28. Indie
Chapter 28
Indie
W hen I show back up to the hotel, I’m surprised to find the guys aren’t even there yet. Scowling at the empty room that somehow feels like an insult, I end up sitting on the bed and scrolling through my emails, checking to see if I already have an email telling me I’m fired. Nothing yet. I don’t think Kim was bluffing. Someone like her won’t let sleeping dogs lie. She feels slighted in some way. I just don’t know if Frank will take my side or hers. She’s been there longer, so it’s best to assume it’ll be hers.
Which means I’ll be back to looking for jobs again.
I groan and am just about to open the job listings app, when the door opens. I could ignore whoever it is that comes in, but that’s not really my style. So, I slowly look up, and blink in surprise to find only Ram standing by the door, his eyes trained on me.
I stare at him, not quite sure what to say, but I certainly am not going to bring up the reason we came here separately. “What?” I ask.
“I searched you up,” he says before carefully removing his hat and hanging it on the hook. “I hadn’t before, past looking at a few articles you wrote, but I did now.”
It’s hard not to react. Anyone who looks me up a little more in depth will see the very shit I’m trying to avoid, so I can guess where this is going.
“I’d really appreciate it if you stop,” I reply, my eyes steady on him. Of all the things these men know about me, this isn’t one of the things I’d like them to. Hell, I’d prefer it disappeared into the past as much as I wish dad would stop calling me from freaking prison. And now apparently sending people to deliver his letters for him when I refuse to answer those calls.
“I have some experience with the gang your dad?—”
“Stop,” I growl. “That’s enough.”
“You can’t run from something like this forever. Clearly?—”
I leap to my feet. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
“We need to talk about it!” he growls back. “This is a big fuckin’ deal?—”
“Mind your own goddamned business!” I spit, storming up to him. “I don’t need some cowboy who thinks he knows better discussing my past!”
“You’re being stubborn,” he growls. “It’s unnecessary?—”
I poke him in the chest. “You don’t know anything, Ramiro Mondragon, and I suggest you stop talking right now.”
He glares at me. I glare back at him. We’re toe to toe, like this is a standoff and one of us is going to pull a revolver faster than the other. Which one of us will be shot dead?
“You’re incredibly frustrating,” he growls, following a thick stream of Spanish that I don’t understand. “Stop being difficult.”
I bare my teeth at him, and the words that come out aren’t ones that I consciously think about. They just erupt like word vomit, and I can’t take them back. I’m not sure I’d even want to.
“Make me,” I snarl.
Like this is a game. Fuck. If it is, I’ve already lost the moment his expression darkens. He grabs me roughly, his hand on the back of my neck like a vice as he jerks me against him. I gasp and grab at his arm, my eyes wide at the expression on his face. Gone is the playful expression he often wears. In its place is the desperate hunger of a man pushed to the edge, one who was just issued a challenge.
“With pleasure,” he snarls, just before his lips crash against mine.
The kiss we’d shared before was gentle and unhurried. This one is nothing like that. This one is all violence and barely restrained feral hunger. Ramiro Mondragon kisses me like he’s been waiting to do this his entire life, like he’s yearned for it for decades. We’re both panting with our anger, with the frustration of neither one of us backing down, so the kiss turns into a fight for control. I lose quickly. I can’t hold a candle to the burning flame that is the cowboy in front of me.
Anger is thick in the air between us, which only adds to the heightened emotions as he grips me tightly. The hand on the back on my neck moves up into my hair and fists it, using it as leverage to tilt my head for a better angle. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth, tasting me. Ram isn’t a sloppy kisser. He kisses like a man starved, like this may be the last time he ever gets to taste me, and it’s fucking endearing. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like this, like the world is ending and we’re about to burn together at the end of it all. I don’t think I’ll ever know what it’s like to be kissed like this again.
His other hand is on my hip, dragging me against him tight enough that I can feel his erection pressing against me. It serves as evidence of his need for me, of his angry hunger, and fuck if it doesn’t drive me wild to be wanted by this man. I never thought I’d be into cowboys, but there’s something about this one, about the trio that I can’t seem to get out of my head. They’ve gotten under my skin, injected themselves into my veins, and that should worry me how easily they’ve done it. I should run screaming for the hills.
Instead, I rip Ram’s shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions. The shirt is definitely ruined, but I can’t bring myself to care. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind.
My nails scratch at his chest, digging in until I should be worried to draw blood. His fist tightens in my hair, drawing a gasp from my lips that he swallows. Only then does he wrench my head back, breaking the kiss to expose my throat.
“Tell me you want me,” he growls, his voice so thick, it’s almost animalistic. “Tell me to keep going.”
My fingers trail down to his abs, the muscles twitching with my touch. “Yes,” I hiss through my teeth. “Yes.”
“Beg for my cock,” he orders. “Beg me to bury myself in your sweet pussy.”
I clamp my lips shut. I’m not the kind to beg, and if this is a struggle for control, it’s going to remain a fight until the bitter end.
“Fuck me or don’t,” I grunt despite my head being held in the awkward position. “Either way, I won’t beg for it.”
He grins, clearly liking my answer. “You will,” he promises.
“I won’t,” I argue, reaching for his belt. “Now take off your fucking clothes.”
He releases my hair, and I think I’m going to win. Instead, he reaches for my t-shirt and drags it over my head roughly, making me growl in annoyance at the brief flash of blindness. Before I’ve even straightened, his hand is already on the hooks of my bra, popping them free, dragging it from my arms. His large hand cups my breast, the calluses sending electric bolts of pleasure through my body as the roughness scraps against my nipple. Meanwhile, my fingers dance far more clumsily over his belt buckle, tugging unsuccessfully for a minute until it loosens and I’m able to tug it free. He backs me up against the mattress until the backs of my knees find the edge. When I stop, he shoves me backward and I tumble back with an oomph, my hair falling over my face until I shove it back.
He stands over me, his eyes hooded, his cock straining against his zipper, his shirt hanging open around his shoulders. “I wish you could see how you look right now,” he groans, his hand reaching to the button of his jeans. He pops it open. “Angry, panting, like a fucking goddess, daring me to fuck you.”
I glare at him, my body warring with itself if I should give into the anger or the desire first. “You’re still talking,” I sneer.
His hand stops over his zipper just before he’d been about to reveal the cock I’m so hungry for. Disappointment fills me, but it’s not stronger than the anger. “I see you still think you’re in control here, periodista ,” he purrs. “Allow me to enlighten you.”
He hooks my thigh and jerks my leg up, his fingers dancing along the laces of my combat boot. He makes quick work of loosening it before tugging the boot off and dropping it to the floor. He tugs my sock off after it, leaving my foot bare. He strokes his fingers along my foot, squeezing in an almost massage before he grabs my other leg and repeats the process. He leans down and flicks open the button of my jeans. He doesn’t bother unzipping them. Instead, he grabs the bottom of my jeans and drags them off my body in a quick movement that feels heavily practiced. I’m not going to lie. It’s sexy as hell.
I’m wearing my more practical underwear, definitely not sexy ones, but he looks down at me as if I’m wearing lace and silk. Those rough fingers wrap around my ankle, trail down my calf, circle my knee, before scraping down my thigh. I hold my breath, waiting for him to dip between them, but hiss it out through my teeth when he avoids where I want him to touch in favor of stroking along my hip bones at the edge of my underwear. He hooks the edge and starts to drag them down, achingly slow, so slow I start to writhe in anticipation.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to fuck Ram. I’ve thought about it in detail, but nothing could have prepared me for the type of lover he actually is.
Teasing. Fiery. Cruel.
I hurry him along once he gets my underwear around my knees, kicking them off and spreading my legs, revealing my wetness to him. The smirk on his lips nearly does me in, but he fucking runs his hands along my legs again, teasing.
“Fucking do something!” I hiss, aching for his touch.
“Beg me to,” he shoots back.
“We’ve already discussed this,” I say, slapping my hands against the mattress.
His eyes crinkle in that frustratingly sexy way. “So we have.”
When his hands hook the back of my knees, I think we’re about to get somewhere. Instead, he jerks and twists, flipping me onto my stomach before I even know what’s happening. My eyes widen and I push up, intending to turn back over, but his hand on my back keeps me pinned to the mattress.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he purrs. “I promised you were going to beg for it, periodista .”
“You’re an asshole,” I growl, my fists gripping into the comforter as I turn my head to the side, trying to see what he’s doing.
His hand dips between my thighs and strokes up through my folds, finding my wetness there. He hums. “Apparently, you like that.”
“Fuck you,” I pant.
“Yes,” he groans. “That’s the plan.”
And then he presses a single finger inside me. I arch my back, giving him better access and he rewards me with another finger for my efforts.
“You can do better than that,” he says. I try to get my knees beneath me despite his hand on my upper back. “Come on,” he encourages, and fuck if it doesn’t make me try harder. My knees get purchase and I’m able to get my ass in the air despite the pressure on my back. The arch is steep, but I don’t fucking care right now. So what if I’ll pay for it tomorrow. I’ll just take my pills. “There we go,” he praises. “Good girl.” Pretty sure I start dripping down my inner thighs. “I think you deserve a reward for that.”
His fingers start moving inside me, slowing fucking me until I gasp into the comforter. He strokes slowly, searching along my inner wall until he finds the spot that makes my thighs shake and a moan slips from my throat.
“There it is,” he purrs as he curls his fingers into that spot. I whimper as I flood around his fingers, my body alive with pleasure. “Beg for it,” he commands again.
“No,” I groan breathily. “I won’t.”
He touches that spot and then violently fucks me with his fingers in short, rapid bursts. I jerk beneath him, crying out at the sudden brutal pleasure he wrings from my body. I gush around his fingers, squirting until I drip down my thighs. My thighs shake with it as he plays me like a fucking instrument. His fingers slow as he groans in pleasure, enjoying watching me come undone.
“Beg me for my cock,” he orders again.
Somehow, I find my voice. “No,” I repeat.
His fingers move fast again, dragging soft screams of pleasure from my throat as he hits my g-spot brutally over and over again. He twists his hand, prolonging the pleasure, until I can’t control the way my body leaks for him.
“Beg for it,” he growls. This time, there’s no slowing. He fucks me with his fingers, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of me loud in the quiet room. I hear his zipper, and I know he’s freed his cock, know he’s waiting for me to submit. I cry out as his fingers stroke that spot over and over again, driving me insane. I writhe beneath him, my cries growing more frantic. The full orgasm slams into me without warning, my cries turning into a scream as he drags it from me, as I squirt around his fingers. His groan is music to my ears, so deep and guttural that it only makes me more desperate.
“Indie,” he snarls. “ Ruégamelo !”
I blame my lack of control as I come apart beneath him on anything but the very real desperate need I have for him. I’d gone into this refusing to give up control, but that was before his rough fingers were buried deep in my pussy. That was before he dragged an orgasm by force from my core and absorbed it like a fucking incubus. I’m no better than the horses he rides.
“Please,” I cry desperately, unable to stop the word from tumbling out. “Please.”
“There she is,” he purrs thickly. “I knew you had it in you, periodista .” His fingers disappear from my pussy, leaving me empty and throbbing. I groan in protest, my knees digging into the mattress. “You deserve this for those pretty words.”
I get a split second to feel the mattress dip around me. I get even less time to anticipate what it’ll be like. The head of his cock is at my entrance so fast, I barely have time to process it before he impales me on his thick cock. I’m so wet, he slides right in, and he takes full advantage of that. My pussy spasms as he stretches me and bottoms out. I’m hyperventilating around my shaky moans. His own groan of pleasure goes right to my pussy, and I gush around him.
“Breathe with me,” he encourages, his hand finally leaving my back to stroke along my spine. “ Respira, periodista .” I do as he says, trying to gather my sense as he stretches me wide. He’s thicker than anyone I’ve ever been with, and I suddenly regret not getting to see him before he buried himself inside me. “You’re taking it so well,” he praises. “ Tu cono fue hecho para mí .”
I don’t know what he says, but it sounds fucking filthy. When he starts speaking in Spanish, strings after strings of words I don’t understand, I only grow more desperate. He could be telling me he’s going to murder me, and I wouldn’t fucking care as long as he fucks me before he does. Is it praise? Is he degrading me? Doesn’t matter. It still drops inside me and makes me just as feral.
He pulls out and strokes back inside, the both of us shaking with the pleasure of it. The words that come from my throat make absolutely no sense. I might as well be speaking gibberish as he starts to fuck me, slowly at first, before the feral anger returns. As if reminded that I’d refused to tell him my past, he growls under his breath, his hands gripping my hips roughly before he picks up speed and begins to slam inside me of me with savage thrusts that rock me into the mattress. I scream with every thrust, devolving into a mess of need. He could ask me anything in this moment and I’d give it to him.
“This is yours,” he snarls. “All of me. You can pretend all you want that you’re in control, but right now, you do as I command, and you’ll fucking take it all.” I don’t answer, mostly because I fucking can’t. I can barely breathe as he stretches me wide, as my pussy throbs around him. I don’t know when I start to cum on his cock, but I do know that once I start, I don’t stop. I squirt with every thrust, making a mess of the bed, as he claims me. “Say it,” he spits. “Say this pussy does what I tell it to.”
My fingers dig into the bed, searching for purchase, an attempt to hold onto control.
“Say it!” he snarls followed by a long line of Spanish. When I still don’t answer, his hand circles the front of my neck, and he drags me up. My hands fall beneath me as I try to hold myself up before he pulls me up too far for my arms to do anything at all. He presses me against his chest, but his thrusts don’t slow. He continues to pound inside me, making my ass shake with each thrust. His teeth scrape the shell of my ear, his hot breath fanning across my face.
“Say it,” he growls, his voice so full of gravel, it’s rough even to my own ears. “Say this pussy does what I tell it to,” he repeats. His hand squeezes my throat, a warning.
My hands wrap around his forearm, my chest burning with how heavy my breaths are. “My pussy does what you tell it to,” I manage to grind out, my voice cracking with each of his thrusts.
“Tell me you deserve this,” he commands.
“I deserve this,” I repeat, frantic as my body shakes. At this point, I’m not holding myself up. I’m only up because he holds me there.
“Tell me you’re beautiful,” he growls in my ear.
I hesitate, confused, before my lips form the words. “I’m. . . beautiful,” I rasp.
“That’s fucking right,” he groans, and rewards me by changing his angle, stroking up inside me with sharp, brutal thrusts. “You may have found us, but consider this us staking our fucking claim, periodista .” His fingers tweak my nipple before he grabs a fistful of my breast. “ Ya no hay escapatoria para ti. Tú nos perteneces .”
“Yes,” I scream with no idea what his words mean. He could have been asking for my soul, and I’d have fucking signed on the dotted line in blood.
He chuckles in my ear, amused. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, and fuck yeah I’m his good girl. I’ll be his good girl for as long as he fucks me like this. “I think you deserve to feel what you do to me for being such a good girl.”
“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth. “Please.”
He groans against my skin, his lips trailing along the nape of my neck and my shoulder. When he reaches the curve where they meet, his lips seal on my skin there, his teeth sinking in, and I know he’ll leave a mark behind. It doesn’t matter. My pussy decides it likes that, and I shatter into a million pieces, my vision speckling with stars as I scream out in ecstasy. He groans against my skin, his cock jumping inside me as he starts to pump me with the evidence of his claim. He continues to stroke in and out, his rhythm suffering as he releases deep inside me, painting me with his control. I shake around him, my pussy throbbing with each twitch of his cock, with the feeling of both our releases running down my thighs.
“ Perfecto ,” he whispers, and it’s like I’m being told I’ve won some sort of award. “Absolutely perfect.”
I shiver as he pulls out of me, as the feeling of our combined juices make a mess. I have no strength left, but that’s okay. Ram supports me with his own, carefully lifting me and lying me down in the bed. I don’t move as he disappears and comes back with a wet towel to clean me up. I’m still shaking when he wipes along my thighs, mopping up the mess we’d made.
He flashes that dimpled grin at me. “Perhaps we should have started by putting a towel down, yeah?”
My weak chuckle is more like a puff of amused air, which only makes his grin widen. “I’d suggest a shower,” he says. “But you don’t look like you can stand up quite yet.”
Once he cleans me up, he situates me on the bed and covers me up with the sheet. He tugs the comforter off since it’s a mess and steals the one from Tripp’s bed to drape over me. I’m surrounded by warmth, my body still throbbing from the thorough fucking, when the door beeps and opens. I immediately tug the blankets up over my head, trying to hide, as if that’ll somehow hide the evidence of what we’d just done.
The mattress bounces as someone jumps onto the bed and tugs the covers down from my face. Beau grins at me, his eyes bright with mischief as he glances over to where Ram is tugging on a pair of sweatpants.
Beau giggles. “How was it?” he asks me. “Did he fuck you right or do I need to finish the job?” Ram scowls at him, and I flush at the clear indicator that there’s no hiding what we’d done. Tripp stands at the table with Bilbo on a leash, his eyes flicking over to me, clearly interested in whatever my answer may be.
“She’s been well fucked,” Ram growls at him.
“Don’t be mad, Rammie,” Beau laughs. “It’s just a question. We both know your masculinity isn’t in question.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “But seriously, if you didn’t get to finish, I’m happy to oblige.”
Despite my embarrassment, despite the fact I’m naked beneath these sheets and too damn weak to take a shower, I laugh.
Leave it to the clown to lighten the weight on my shoulders.